


30 Day OTP Challenge: Johnlock

by Port_of_Morrow



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 30 Days OTP Challenge, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Fluff, cute johnlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Port_of_Morrow/pseuds/Port_of_Morrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title says it all. Mostly fluff & feels. I may do smut if I need to/get the urge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding Hands

Day 1: Holding Hands

"So... what now?" John sighed, as he onlooked the room in front of him; packed from floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes.  
Sherlock was exhausted, winding his arms around in windmills and painfully rubbing a crick out of his shoulder.  
"Let me get that," John spoke quietly, pushing his boyfriend's hand off his shoulder and replacing it with his own. Sherlock's chin dropped to his chest as John's strong hands worked the muscles on his shoulders from tight knots to soft, supple muscle tissue.  
"Better?" the shorter man whispered, before pushing himself onto his tip toes and leaving a kiss on the sensitive skin behind Sher's ear.  
"Thank you John," he breathed, before turning around and placing a kiss on the army doctor's forehead. "You were saying?"  
"I was wondering whether we should start unpacking."  
"Now?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. The last of the boxes had just been brought into the apartment and they'd spend now three hours hauling carboard boxes of Sherlock's rubbish from the truck on the street below into their new home.

Sherlock looked around. It was different to home. He missed the wallpaper and the fireplace which he'd grown strangely accustomed to.  
"You miss Baker Street don't you?" John half smiled. Sher smiled too, at his boyfriend's ability to sense exactly the way he felt. The detective shrugged.  
"A little... although..." he trailed off. John looked at Sherlock quizically as he watched the detective's mind clicking away. Suddenly Sherlock bolted for a box at the other side of the room. Dropping to his knees he began rooting through it. He extracted novels and casebooks, stacking them ungraciously next to him. He then found what he was looking for.  
John onlooked as the younger guy leapt to his feet and carried the black can to the other side of their new living room. With a "hsssss" Sherlock began spraying the yellow paint onto the wall. A large circle, two dots and an arc at the bottom to finish the smiling face.  
"Well now it's just like home." John laughed, walking over to Sherlock to get a clearer view of the first piece of decoration in their new home. His boyfriend was however gazing out of the glass sliding doors which lead onto the balcony, at the now glittering view of London at night. The Eye stood magnificently against the black sky, right underneath the silver waxing moon.

"Can you see Baker street John?" Sherlock smiled, turning to him. The army doctor just shook his head.  
"Let me show you." Sherlock spoke softly, reaching to hold John's right hand in his own. He lead John to stand in front of him so he was gazing out of the window at the same angle as Sher. After bowing his head to place a kiss among John's blonde locks, he raised his hand, placing his pointer finger on John's, and pointing his finger at a tiny yellow light in the distance.  
"That's Mrs Hudson's kitchen John." The doctor just laughed, "you made that up!"  
"Hardly. See that's Mason avenue which leads to the park which is at a 45 degree angle from the north end of Baker street and-"  
"Okay okay I believe you!" John laughed.  
Sherlock smiled, unknown to John who was now mesmerised by the mind blowing vision of London by night.  
"This apartment has an amazing view..." He breathed.  
Sherlock cocked his head to the side, drawing his arms tightly over John's chest. He gently kissed John's temple..  
"It certainly does."


	2. Day 2: Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs to conduct an experiment. He needs John's help.

"Have you ever kissed anyone John?" Sherlock asked. Slightly taken aback by the question, John leant back on the sofa, folding his newspaper and placing it by his side.  
He crossed his arms.  
"A few people yeah... why?"  
"I'm doing an investigation on the transfer of bacteria from one mouth to the other through oral kissing." Sherlock stated, as he continued typing away at John's laptop.   
"Through oral-"  
"The victim had a bacterium in his mouth which doesn't match anything he's eaten. It's only found in a breed of potatoes from up north. We know whoever kissed him killed him so if I can prove that this kind of bacteria is transferred through kissing it leads us closer to the culprit."  
"I see..." John said quietly, flushing a little at his stupid assumption that the question was to do with anything more than work.  
"Well I haven't been up north so I wouldn't know." John hastily said, before returning to his newspaper.  
"No," Sherlock clipped, "But your salad has."  
"My... my salad?"  
"Yorkshire Farm Foods potato salad. You had it for lunch today from Waitrose."

John sighed. He'd picked up a potato salad to eat on the tube on the way to a job interview- and how Sherlock could possibly know was beyond him. There was probably some ink stain on his fingertip from receipts that only Waitrose made or something. Wait... why would the fact that he'd eaten the same kind of potato have anything to do with-  
"Sherlock why does it matter if-"  
"Shut up I'm thinking," He snapped back.  
He looked up from his paper to see his flatmate turned in his chair, looking at him quizzically. He was no longer looking at his computer screen, but now at John's lips.   
Watson felt weird from the way Sherlock was looking at him.  
"John I need to carry out an experiment."   
The army doctor gulped before darting his eyes anywhere else in the apartment. Sherlock continued, eyes unmoving from John's.  
"I've heard it's general courtesy to ask someone before you kiss them. John." Sherlock smiled politely.  
"Oh shit..." John swore. Before he could protest, Sherlock was sat down on the sofa next to him, lips slightly parted and looking into his flatmate's eyes.  
"Um yes okay. F-for the experiment..." John forced out, and before he could take another breath he felt the animal warmth of Sherlock's chest close to his, and the detective's lips against his own.

John couldn't breathe. His head was spinning like a roller-coaster and his heart pounding at a million beats per second. He was being truthful when he told Sherlock he'd kissed a few people, but none of them had been like this. The younger man's clearly inexperienced lips danced against his, varying in pressure and intensity.   
Sherlock, admittedly, was almost enjoying this, and not in the getting-a-thrill-from-solving-a-case kind of enjoyment. It was just... quite nice. In order for the bacteria to be transferred, he opened his mouth a little against John's, hoping he'd do the same. He did- and in an instant he felt the army doctor's tongue dart inside his mouth, flicking against Sherlock's teeth and his own tongue. _What an effective way to transfer the bacterium _Sherlock thought... admittedly after he'd appreciated the sensations caused by this very odd activity.__  
Sherlock pulled away first. John's eyes were still half closed, his mouth a little open. He swallowed and composed himself.  
"Open wide!" Sherlock smiled, and as John opened his mouth to speak the detective plunged a cotton swab he'd extracted from his top pocket into John's mouth, before running it over the inside of John's cheeks.  
"Dith better be worf ith!" John got out.  
Sherlock chuckled a little, "That unpleasant was it?"   
He removed his hold from John's chin and placed the cotton swab in a zip-lock bag.  
"No..I..." John felt himself flushing red again. He knew he didn't have to say anything. As annoying as Sherlock's deduction skills could be sometimes... they were pretty helpful when John didn't feel like talking. He knew that the red of his face, his inability to make coherent sentences and the way he couldn't meet Sherlock's gaze gave away more than he could ever hope to say.  
Sherlock nodded, before he opened his own mouth to swipe a cotton swab around his cheeks. He placed the item its own bag and tucked the two in his pocket.   
After standing up, Sherlock awkwardly kissed the top of John's head, before running as quickly as he could out the door, grabbing his coat and scarf in his stride.  
And as Sherlock darted down the stairs and out onto the street, he noted this as one of his favourite investigations so far.


	3. Day 3: Going On a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a million years since I updated- but your hits, kudos and gracious comments have spurred me on. I am ever grateful to everyone who's taken time to read this. Enjoy!

Sherlock sighed deeply as the train, once again, hissed to a halt at a platform. He glanced out the window, non-commitedly, Severen Tunnel Junction, the sign read, beneath the Welsh translation of the station’s name. The station was nothing more than three slabs of concrete- making 4 platforms, an overpass and a hanging sign.  
The grass beyond was yellow and dead, and the tiny town beyond looked desolate, hot, and lifeless.   
Aside from all this: Sherlock couldn’t help notice how far the place looked from London. 

As the train began to pound down the tracks once more, further away from Hereford (where he had stayed for three weeks) and closer to home, the detective leant back in his chair, and tried to get some sleep.

Sherlock’s homesickness wasn’t new- he’d always missed London when he’d been away from the city for too long… he missed the bustling streets alive with people and stories, the corner shops smelling richly of chicken pasties, the zooming cabs and the fresh smell of St Barts- but now Sherlock found another factor in the equation: John Watson, his blogger and partner.   
It had been two years since the sandy haired soldier had moved into 221B Baker St with him- and for two years Sherlock had harboured certain affection with the man.  
Sherlock wondered how John would respond to his return, for after living with someone full time… working with them and sharing almost every aspect of one’s life with them… one would surely feel some pang of misery when they were gone for a while… surely? He felt that way towards John- no doubt. 

He’d so terribly wished that his blogger was able to come with him, and not home- babysitting the child his cousin had dumped on his doorstep before gallivanting to Switzerland with his new wife.

Usually the babysitter would be on call, but in this case the new wife was the babysitter.

And as Sherlock wondered what his friend would do upon his return, he indulged himself in a short fantasy: one in which John would meet him at the station, before flushing red and kissing the edge of his mouth, and then devouring him in the cab on the way back to Baker St, where they would-

“Any refreshments sir?” the shrill attendant’s voice spoke.

“I.. no.” Sherlock scowled, waving her away before kicking himself for being so ridiculous. John would not be waiting for him, nor would he feel any differently about Sherlock than he had for the past two years.

And with that, the detective rocked his head back, and delved into a rough, light sleep, filling his mind with dreamy images of John, and London, and John, and cases, and pasties and train tracks and Jonathan-bloody-Watson.

______

 

It was 19.04 when the train finally rocked into Waterloo Station. Sherlock awoke with a start, before composing himself and proceeding to collect his baggage from the overhead. 

It didn’t take long for John to find Sherlock on the platform: that unruly mop of black hair teamed with his signature blue scarf would catch the soldier’s eye anywhere.

“Sh-Sherlock!” John called tentatively from across the station, and then cursing himself. He doesn’t care- John told himself. Truth was: John had been thinking way too much about Sherlock since he’d left. He’d wake up some mornings in that blissfully ignorant state when you can’t really remember anything: and he’d wait for the whistling of the kettle or the sound of Sherlock padding across the creaky floorboards… and then he’d remember, with a horrific pang that Sherlock wasn’t here- and would still be in bloody-fucking-Wales for however many more days.

But now he wasn’t just an photo in John’s wallet or an image in a hazy dream: he was there, in the flesh, just feet away.

“Sherlock!” John called again, with more confidence, waving his hand slightly.

The moment Sherlock caught sight of John, he held back a huge smile, stepping over to the blogger and wrapping his arms around him.

John was caught in a stupor, yet instinctively placed his arms around Sherlock’s back, holding the tall yet ever-so-thin detective close to him.

Sherlock quickly retracted, taking a step back, and holding out his hand.  
A very shaken John took it lightly, before shaking it.  
“Sherlock…. I… how was Wales?”

Sherlock shrugged non-committedly, “Miserable, hot… case too easy. But it’s nice to be home.” He nodded at John, more than anything else.

The two stood in silence for a minute, before John blurted, “Sh’wegooutfordinnerors’mthing,” 

“What now?” Sherlock asked, a light teasing smile playing on his face.

John blinked quickly, breathed deeply, and said more slowly, “Shall we maybe go out for dinner, or something.”

He nervously bit his lip.  
Sherlock smiled gently, as a warmth spread across his body.  
“Of course.”


End file.
